He set the jug down, and from his bosom drew forth a tin whistle. For a minute or two he played softly, his eyes on Caleb's. Then, gradually, his eyes closed and a rapt expression settled upon his grimy face as he led his listener down strange by-paths of fancy.,
The twilight shadows were beginning to steal across the glade; the golden-rod of the uplands massed into indistinguishable clumps. The silence of eventide fell soft and sweet and songless—that breathless space between the forest day and darkness.,
"Well, there's the Proctors, five families of 'em an' every last one of 'em a brother to the other.",
"Good morning, Miss Acton! I am going over to my father's. Are you returning to Old Harbour House? If so, I hope you will allow me to do myself the pleasure of accompanying you as far."
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Billy sat silent, striving to keep back the grin that would come in spite of him. Wilson, on pretext of getting his pipe, got up and left the room.,
Meanwhile Lucy Acton watched and waited on the quarterdeck of the Aurora. The hour was about half-past four. The breeze was sinking with the sun; it still blew with weight enough to keep the sails of the three ships steady. But the dance of the sea was growing languid, the rolling foam of the breaking head was wanting in brilliance of flash and friskiness of somersault; the blue of the deep was darkening, and spread in violet shot with light blue and purple gleams to the margin of[Pg 443] the reflected glory of the sun where the lines of light steeped into the richer colour.,
He was as good as his word. Wilson was just finishing the morning's milking, when the deacon returned. "No other offers, Tom," he said. "Looks as though they were after this particular strip of territory. Anyhow it's agreed that none of us will sell or rent without consultin' the others, so I guess we can wait on Hinter's game all right.",
Through the summer night, Hinter, astride a rangy roan, rode the ten mile trail that lay between the foot of Rond Eau and the light-house. On his left the giant pines stood with sharp points clearly defined against the starlight like the bayonet-fixed guns of a sleeping army; to his right swept dwarf cedars and stunted oaks and beyond them the bay marshes, with weaving fire-flies shimmering like star-dust close above them.
"Mr Greyquill!" cried Miss Acton. "Why, he may have come with news of Lucy. Bid him step in!"
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"I guess we don't want'a keep him, do we?" he asked of his companions.
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"Maybe I do, but I ain't tellin' all I know," said Billy. "What's the good? Nobody 'ud believe me."
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A grin rippled across his face and grew into a chuckle. "I bet I sleep in the barn fer a week. I sure hate the smell of sulphur."
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